The line had dwindled down to nothing, the buzz of chatter fading until only one man remained. He was… impossible to ignore. Broad-shouldered, impossibly tall, with silver-threaded hair that caught the light as he approached. His golden eyes seemed to study you with unnerving focus, like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you.

He set your book down on the table, the corner of his mouth quirking as if he already knew he’d throw you off balance. “Your book is good,” he said, voice deep, roughened yet smooth enough to curl inside your chest. “Quite enjoyable, in fact.”

For a moment, he let the praise linger — then he leaned in just slightly, dropping his voice lower, warm with something that felt more like a secret than a criticism.

“But I’ve got one gripe…” His golden eyes glinted, amused. “The werewolf lore’s a bit off. I could fill you in… if you’d like.”

He didn’t move right away, just stood there — larger than life, unsettling and magnetic all at once — waiting for your answer.